


Peaches and Prufrock

by LibraStar96



Category: Gravity Falls, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: AU, F/M, Just gonna slip this Twin Peaks tag in while no one is looking, Labyrinth/ Gravity Falls Crossover, Mabill, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, bewarb, it's gonna get kinda dark, it's supposed to sound like a fairy tale, kind of freeform, kind of references The Snow Queen, let me know if it doesn't make sense, lots o Goblins, there's death, we turn the triangle into a goblin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5011453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraStar96/pseuds/LibraStar96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was tradition for a Goblin King to take a human bride but what bride would want to be tied to one such as their King? The story said that only the light of a falling star willingly given could illuminate the void of the Kings absent heart, but why would being of purity want to shine on something so depraved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Start

**Author's Note:**

> It seems strange to me that I’m posting a Mabill fic. after wanting to kill Bill (no pun intended) for how he tricked Mabel in the last episode but here I am :-/
> 
> This story is dedicated to Kinzichi, the friend who got me into both the tv show and movie I am writing about. Without you this story would not exist, I would not know the joy and tears they have brought me, and I would have felt the phantom sorrow of having not met a true and wonderful friend. Thank you for all of it!

**Prologue**

Something essential to know about Goblins, is that they are not inherently evil. This would seem a strange declaration. After all, to an outside perspective it would not seem irrational to say that the creatures must have been forged in nothing short of hellfire. This however is not so, for cruel they may seem Goblins are not inherently bad This does not mean that they inherently good either. They are instead, true agents of chaos. They all have a natural desire to cause mischief and mayhem which is unfortunately often at the expense of the humans they find so amusing to torment. Hence the perception of theirs as a vile race.

However, despite the Goblin races’ affinity for madness, their society itself (for Goblins are indeed organized enough to have one) is actually very orderly and defined by a number of rules and laws both written and assumed. For example; all goods and services must be paid for up front (could you imagine a Goblin using credit?), peaches are never to be handled or sold under any circumstance, and Goblins may ‘play’ with mortals but are never to engage one as doing so would endanger the species and the secrecy of their home. Goblins must serve in the army of their monarch (although the amount and quality of the training they receive, if any at all, depends on the their general at the time) and must always be ready to respond to a call to arms. Goblins may perform magic befitting their rank, and above all, Goblins must pay total respect and be completely obedient to their monarch.

Goblins have a social hierarchy with four major levels: Frea, Tri, Trom, and the Monarchy. The Frea are at the very bottom of the social order and often filled the roles of servants to the Trom and Monarchy, but primarily they are the guides and keepers of the Goblin Kings Labyrinth, giving their class a strange power by being the only Goblins that could successfully navigate the deadly maze. The Tri are mostly merchants or skilled tradesmen, creating and selling goods and services. They are beholden to no single master besides the King and make up the largest portion of Goblin society. They are the ones that steal up to the mortal world to cause mischief like starting fights or untying shoe laces, and are so quick and cunning that to even catch sight of one is nearly impossible. The Trom are the generals of the Kings army, setting themselves above the rest for being able to get any of the others to listen and obey them (no small feat). There were not many Goblins who could accomplish such a task and so of this group there are few. They are the ones who make sure the Kings orders are carried out, and for this reason, so are very essential. Then there is the King, with complete and total power, the title passed down from parent to child (though none can seem to recall the current Kings parents), and the most powerful of all the Goblins. The regular laws of Goblin society did not apply to the King: the monarch may give peaches to anyone they wished, they may take goods and services without paying, and they may interact with mortals. This interaction with humans by the monarch was allowed, it was encouraged, expected even, as it was tradition for a Goblin ruler to take a human bride.

Let it not be said that the Goblins’ monarch was a poor King. His temperament made him an excellent ruler of their race with his swinging moods and manic emotions, kept under the controlled façade of a relaxed and carefree being. He knew how to throw celebration and make the most of revelry in a way that kept his subjects in good humor. He was mischievous bordering on cruel, and so was the best trickster of them all, finding new ways to torment mortals. Perhaps most admirable to his subjects, he was the best at twisting his words to hide their true meanings. These talents made him an inspiration and something like a hero to all of Goblin-kind. He was also masterful at finding any way to achieve his desires. He was said to have sacrificed his eye for omnipotence, so well was he able to predict the movement and forces of the world around him and the motivations that drove it. He mapped it in his mind as though he were recording the constellations of the night sky. No, he led the Goblins well, better than perhaps any King before, but never had any King seemed as distant to his people as this one.

There were many stories about the current Goblin King. There were story’s that said that his father was the night sky and that it was Chaos herself that bore him. Another story said that his blood was made of liquid nightmares. One added that if you looked into the gaping hole where his left eye should have been under the triangular cloth that he hid it under, the terrors in his blood would spill into your mind and drive you mad. It was generally believed that his hair was made of woven gold carefully sewn into his skull. One story said that where his heart should have been (for Goblins do have them, strange and lopsided as they are) there was only a void, and woe unto any being foolish enough to seek mercy or compassion from what was not there. It was whispered that the King did not and could not truly care for anything or anyone other than himself. There were tales of how once the King had had a vision of fire and death raining down from the sky. It covering the worlds both above and below in black and grey despair, and when he had awoken from it he had laughed until the walls of the castle had trembled with the for of his cackles.

“How then”, the unhappy subjects who were the recipients of these stories would murmur to one another as they trembled, “could our King ever find a bride? Surely she would immediately die of sorrow and fear at belonging to one such as he. Our lives shall be thrown into horrible disorder should he somehow meet his end for he has no heirs and has named no successors. We may spiral into war over such matters and our blood will spill!” Then they would shake and weep openly in the face of their despair.

However, there was one rumor among the many stories of their King, which gave these fearful Goblins a semblance of hope. As it was said that their King had dreamt of destruction and cruelty and laughed, it was also said that he had once dreamt of a falling star. It had been dazzlingly beautiful and had filled the surrounding darkness with light and color. It was said that the King had reached out towards the star, filled with an overwhelming desire to catch it and hold it to his chest, but it had soared away from his eager fingers and came to rest at the top of a tall, sturdy evergreen. The bristles of the tree cradled the star at its top and the whispering wind blowing through its branches mingled with the soft chimes the star emitted. It stayed there twinkling happily and contentedly out of the Kings reach. He had ranted and raved, begged and sobbed, even attempted to burn the tree but every time he touched it the branched would swing at him and knock him down or the star at the top would scream so horribly it crippled him. He had yet to figure out how to get the star to come down and it gave him great discomfort to not be able to obtain what he desired even if only in a dream.

“It was a vision of his bride” the Goblins spoke to one another, “it was a prophesy of our salvation.”

            In the end though, it was only a rumor and Goblins are known to be horrible gossips and certainly none of them had the courage (or stupidity) to ask the King about it, so they simply held on to their hope. A hope that one day a star might fall to them and give light to their fate and the fate of their world.


	2. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'm back. I'm sorry this took so long to come out, college came at me like a ravenous beast and I've only just now been able to finish this chapter. I's nice and long and I hope you like it! I will try to post more frequently from now on. This story has been rattling around inside me and I will definitely finish it! Thank you for you patience enjoy!
> 
> Warning: Major character death in this chapter

Our story begins in this way:

_Once there was a boy who very much wanted to understand the oddities of the world. As a child, he’d always felt as though he didn’t belong due to his strange six fingered hands which were a source of mockery. When the boy became a man, he decided to learn all he could about the way the world around him worked from the best minds he was able to reach. Once he felt he had learned all he could, he left the town he lived in and went out into his country in search of ‘Strangeness’. Perhaps he searched for such things because he felt drawn to the unknown. Perhaps he searched for such things because he felt dissatisfied at how little we really know about the universe. Perhaps he simply wanted to feel like he wasn’t the oddest being out there. It is, after all, a heavy thing to feel the loneliness of an outlier._

_He searched for a place that would have the most ‘Strangeness’ in it. A place where he could live and work in peace, and have plenty of opportunities to research whatever he found there.  He found a small town at the edge of his country surrounded by a forest that felt ancient with mystery and an open-armed community who wouldn’t mind a strange scientist living alone at the edge of the forest. He decided to move there immediately and built a house where he would live and conduct his studies. He also called his friend who had also learned of the world as he had and asked him to help in his research. His friend, who loved him dearly, agreed to come straight away._

_The land was a treasure-trove of ‘Strangeness’, and the man and his friend were constantly afloat in a sea of information and the strange magic of the forest. They delved into the workings of the magic they found, into how the creatures they discovered came to be. The man wondered how they might begin to show the rest of the world the wonders they encountered daily. The man was content with his life, his mind constantly expanding and in the company of his friend. His world was colored with happiness the shade of a golden sunrise._

_However, life cannot remain in a state of perfection and just as the morning must give way to midday and twilight, eventually the man found himself stuck at a puzzle he could not solve. Never had there been something in the man’s life that his intellect could not eventually resolve and the feeling of inadequacy this caused in him ate up his days and his happiness. His friend attempted to support him and offer his own advice, but even so, the man could not move forward with his research and soon became desperate._

_On one of the days, he left his house unable to bear remaining indoors and ventured deep into the forest. He was not sure what he was searching for except escape from his current situation. He wandered in aimless melancholy and eventually came to rest at the roots of an apple tree where he fell into a fitful slumber under the midday sun._

_When he awoke, he found the world around him devoid of all color and time seemed to be frozen. Birds were stuck mid-flight, the apples in the tree above him were gray, and a golden humanoid creature was hovering above him grinning manically._

_Startled by the creatures’ sudden appearance the Scientist let out a yelp and scrambled to get away, but the regal being dressed in flowing golden robes that matched the luster of its hair held up a hand and giggled. “Ho ho!”, the creature chortled, “How funny you are. You need not fear me human (though there are many that do) for I mean only to help you, not harm you.” With that the creature settled on the ground most gracefully, held out an arm towards the man and bowed. “I have heard tell of a human with a particular brilliance that set them apart from the others. I have heard he had an interest in the subject of Magic._ I _-“ the being declared gesturing grandly towards itself, “happen to be quite the expert on such topics. The muse of magic you could say. I am quite impressed with you human and wish to aid you in your studies.”_

_The man, under other circumstances, would have felt great suspicion towards the being and its offer of help, but at that moment he found the creature so dazzling, and so eloquently flattering, that he could not muster up any feelings of mistrust. However, the human, as blinded by flattery as he was, was still clever and knew that creatures such as the one before him seemed to be (old and powerful), did not do anything for mortals without a price._

_“What would you have of me in exchange for your guidance?” he questioned._

_The creature smiled a golden grin._

 

“Diiiiiiiperrrrrrr”!!!!!!!!!!

The young man in question groaned as his sisters’ call echoed through the shack and yanked him from the semi-sleep he’d been _trying_ to enjoy. A glance at the clock showed it was nine in the morning, and pulled another groan from him. It wasn’t even that late what on earth was she yelling about? Dipper picked his phone up from where it was charging on his bedside table and glanced at the date. He shot up, his eyes wide as he realized the importance of the date flashing at him from the screen. It was their birthday, that’s why Mabel was yelling, and…. oh, shit he was late! Dipper shot out of bed, previous drowsiness forgotten and dug through a nearby clothes pile for something that smelled decent and wasn’t too wrinkled.

Dipper and his twin sister Mabel were over at their Great Uncle Stan’s for yet another summer. By fifteen Dipper had moved permanently into the secret room their handyman and great friend Soos had discovered when they were both twelve and Mabel had taken full control of the attic. They'd gotten into a fight about it back then and ended up in each other’s bodies because of the fight and… anyway, the twin’s birthday signaled the end of the summer. It had, therefore, become a tradition for the Pines twins to hold a massive birthday party at their Gruncle’s tourist trap and home The Mystery Shack, that also doubled as an end of summer celebration for the whole town to enjoy. Their Gruncle had been a bit resistant to the idea the first year when they had turned thirteen, but the two had worn him down (Mabel with her puppy eyes, and Dipper with a well-organized list of why the party was the best idea ever), and it soon became an event the whole town looked forward to.

This year, however, was more special than most, because this was the year the siblings turned eighteen. Dipper had been stressing for the whole summer on what to get Mabel (he knew her gift to him would be amazing like always and he was trying to step up his game). Last night he had finally decided on the perfect gift, but if he didn’t head into the forest FIVE MINUTES AGO he wouldn’t have it before the party prep began!

Dipper sprinted out of his room and rounded the corner only to have something colorful (and strawberry scented?) explode in his face. He skidded to a halt coughing a sputtering, as he spat out bits of colored tinsel. A confetti bomb? Only one could be responsible. He turned abruptly and managed to grab hold of his giggling sister before she could escape and tackled her to the floor, grabbing as much of the confetti as he could from the floor and rubbing it into her hair as she squealed.

“Gaaahh, Dipper get off, don’t be a grump cause I got you!”

“Now I’ve got you so we’re even!”, he retorted and they both collapsed as he let go of her, giggling helplessly.

“You kids are gonna make me deaf before my time at this rate!”, came a grouchy but amused shout from the kitchen. A few minutes later Stan walked into the hall and watched as the two siblings tried to reign in their laughter. It was a vain attempt beacuse the sight of their Gruncle in his underwear and a pink frilly apron, holding a frying pan that most likely held their breakfast had them dissolving all over again. The old man rolled his eyes and grumbled, “You two are legally adults today but heck if you ever actually grow up.”

At this Mabel started pumping her arms above her head with fisted hands and chanted “Technically adults! Technically adults!” before she sat up abruptly, her eyes wide and whispered, “I could adopt another pig all on my own now.” She turned to her Great Uncle and joyfully exclaimed, “Waddles can finally have a brother!”

“Absolutely not” was the man’s immediate response, and Dipper sat up as he began trying to brush the rest of the confetti off his flannel button down.

“But Gruncle Staaan you know I’d take great care of them, and I could totally afford it and I could send you money to feed them while I’m at home and…”

“Nope.” The man wisely turned away from his niece as she began. It was no secret that he would cave eventually but he could put up some resistance…. for a little while. Dipper shook his head and smirked before getting to his feet and helping his sister up.

“We’re eighteen Dip can you believe it?!” Mabel was bobbing up and down with barely contained energy. “We can order stuff from TV and buy a car and no one can tell us what to do and-“

“Mabel, you still have to obey the law you know.” Dipper cut in, amused and slightly concerned.

“Oh, don’t kill the buzz Dippin Dot today we go CRAZY!” and with that she threw her hands up and glitter flew into the air.

“Where did you-?”

“We’re gonna start decorating ASAP right?”

Oh crap, ‘okay’ Dipper thought to himself ‘play it cool’, she could NOT know he was getting her present, it had to be a surprise. “I-I w-was going to go into the woods really quick. There’s this new, uh, moss that I want to get a sample of and-”

“Oh come on Dip, moss?”

“Uh. Glowing moss?”

Mabel fixed him was a Very Unimpressed look. “You’re not going to try to meet that centaur again are you?”

“What? No-look I’ve got to go okay, I promise I’ll be back by one!”

“But you promised to help me weed and dazzle the garden before Wendy gets here!”  
“No one is going to care if the garden has weeds Mabes and do the flowers _really_ need sparkles? I mean they’re flowers.”

“I will and yes Dipper, that’s not up for debate!”

Dipper sighed feeling a bit guilty. He _had_ promised but this was more important.

“I really need to go Mabel but I’ll be back to help decorate the party room and set up outside okay?” he looked beseechingly at her.

Mabel gave him a searching look with her arms crossed in front of her before she demanded, “Only if you promise with a ‘Mystery Twins’ handshake.”

“Done.” Dipper grinned and held out a fist.

“Blip, blop, bloopety bloop, twins”. And they both pointed at each other as they blew a raspberry.

“I’ll be back soon!” Dipper called out as he jogged through the living room.

“Don’t be late!”

“Kid where the heck are you going?” called Stan as Dipper breezed past him towards the gift shop.

“Not a kid anymore, and I’m running an errand. I’ll be back soon.” Mabel’s gift was of the magic kind, and it wasn’t worth explaining. After all, Gruncle Stan didn’t believe in that stuff.

“Wendy’s coming by later to set up the lights. You’d better be here to help her!”

Dipper picked up his backpack from where it lay by the door and exited the shack shouting an “Okay!”, over his shoulder.

The weather was perfect. Not humid but warm, sky blue with a few fluffy clouds drifting past, as thought they glided on the surface of a calm lake. A breeze drifted through the leaves of the trees at the edge of the woods, the whispering sound rising from their tops and sending a shiver down Dipper’s spine. This was where he belonged, in the dim light and rich green of the woods. Dipper crossed the tree line with sure steps, inhaling the scent of baking pine needles and fresh air. He was searching for a special kind of flower, which according to the journal, had the power to grant small wishes with each petal you plucked such as, for example, a wish for pink hair, or for bubbles to come out of your mouth when you talk, or for yarn to turn a different color. It wasn’t nearly what she deserved putting up with and loving him for eighteen years but Dipper hoped it would be enough for his sister.

He secured his backpack, straightened his signature blue cap and crossed the threshold, into the haze of magic the forest kept.

……..

Mabel settled in the garden behind the Mystery Shack that she had planted and tended to for the past three years. She had begun it after she and Dipper had gotten themselves in a situation that required them to need a weird array of herbs to make a potion to satisfy a griffin. The griffin had turned out to be, as Soos would say, a ‘pretty righteous dude” and indulged them in a joy ride in the sky now and then. But having to scramble for mint and lambs ear, and a daisy among other things had been such a pain, that Mabel suggested they just start to grow their own “magic plants” just in case.

 Gruncle Stan had given her a patch of land behind the Shack to try out the idea with a shrug, a curious gleam in his eye, and an air of disbelief. Dipper had been less than enthusiastic at first, insisting they didn’t have the time to tend a garden and that with them only being there during the summer they could never keep it up. However, once Mabel discovered her green thumb, and the first batch of seeds began to sprout, he quickly scoured his journal for all plants mentioned and instructed her on how to best tend them. When they went home for the summer that first year she had been worried they would lose all their hard work. Instead when they came back to a tended, and clean patch of soil…well, Stan would never admit that he had any part of it, but his gentle smile when he thought they weren’t looking betrayed him.

Of course, because she was Mabel, she had to add some touches of her own to make the garden not only useful but also pretty to look at. She planted an array of flowers and would arrange the pattern in which they grew differently every year.

“Each summer is different, and so are we”, she’d reasoned when Dipper had questioned her about it, “The garden should be different too.” As Dipper was more of the research guy, she was the one who was, more often than not, actually doing the planting and tending. While she didn’t mind the calming work, it was always preferable to do so with a companion, and today Dipper had said he would join her. She sighed as she pulled out her iPod and adjusted her earbuds. Her brother was always in motion, whether mentally or physically and very forgetful, of course there was something else he had to do this morning. Oh well, she reasoned, she would find a way to make him suck up for it later, because her gift for him was the coolest ever and now he had to work a little for it!

She scrolled through her playlists and landed on one of her nerdy favorites. She pressed play.

 

_Early one morning, Peter opened the gate and walked out into the big green meadow._

Dipper successfully stepped over a fallen tree trunk and managed not to slip on the wet moss by a running stream. By the time he narrowly missed a swarm of fairies headed straight for his head, he wasn’t sure if he was having a lucky day or if somehow the universe was saving all the negative up for later. He really hoped it was the first option. Glancing down at the map he had created and expanded on since he was thirteen, he was able to keep his head from spinning long enough the try to rationally address the magic of the Gravity Falls forest.

“Okay take a left at the Kaleidostone, and keep on the path.” Dipper muttered to himself as he passed a sort of rock that seemed to glow from within as multiple patterns shifted across its surface. Under his feet was a barely discernable path through the underbrush of the forest easy to lose with unknown dangers ahead but at least he knew he was going the right way.

 

_On a branch of a big tree sat a little bird, Peter's friend. "All is quiet" chirped the bird happily._

_Just then a duck came waddling round. She was glad that Peter had not closed the gate and decided to take a nice swim in the deep pond in the meadow._

 

Mosquitoes were attacking him more viciously than the pixies would have. Honestly he would have preferred the pixies because the repellant for those was a spell he could conjure up in no time, but mosquitoes? Only he would forget bug spray in the middle of August. At least his bug bites didn’t seem to be spelling out ominous warnings this time. He was finally nearing the end of the hidden path…. or at least he thought so. He hadn’t exactly kept the most detailed account on how to reach the location of this flower. It had been more of a day of wandering that led to its accidental discovery, but he’d gone this far and he refused to let Mabel down now. After all, she would never give up on him. Sure enough, he reached the end of the path and found his next landmark, a dying tree twisted in the shape of an agonized human. Horrifying at first encounter and downright unsettling every encounter afterword but now he knew he was still on the right track. He took a right.

 

_Just then grandfather came out. He was upset because Peter had gone in the meadow. "It's a dangerous place. If a wolf should come out of the forest, then what would you do?"_

 

“Mabel!” Gruncle Stan’s voice carried over _Peter and the Wolf_ , causing Mabel to pause in her weeding and pull her earbuds out.

“What’s up Gruncle Stan?” she hollered back, slightly disoriented from being so abruptly jolted from her focus on her music and task. Stan stalked his way over to her, finally dressed in his trademark suit and red fez.

“Where’s your brother? Wendy’s gonna be here any minute!”

“She is!?” Mabel felt a splitting smile overtake her face at the prospect of seeing her friend so soon. Months away from the older girl and shared Snapchats and phone calls had Mabel very excited to see her in person.

“He’s not back yet.” She glanced towards the tree line wondering absently what he could possibly be doing in there that was taking the whole morning, _and_ risk him getting to welcome Wendy back.

“Well he’d better hurry up or I’m not warning him about any pranks Wendy might set up.” She didn’t miss, try as he might to hide it, the subtle undertone of worry in his voice.

Mabel gave her Gruncle a smirk and reassured him, “You know how Dipper is, the dork probably got attacked by pixies again.” Stan sighed in exasperation before shaking his head in both a fond and fed up manner before heading back to the Shack.

Everything was fine. Mabel’s eyes darted from the trees to her garden. A warm breeze rustled her hair around her shoulders and disturbed the leaves of the forest. She shivered and rearranged herself before pressing play on her ipod. She was being ridiculous.

 

_But Peter paid no attention to his grandfather's words. Boys like him are not afraid of wolves._

Dipper dragged a weary hand over the stars on his forehead.

 

_No sooner had Peter gone, than a big grey wolf came out of the forest._

 

Shit. Okay _now_ he was lost. Really it was only a matter of time he supposed but still, the trip had been going _so well_ and he was positive he was almost there. Well, at least he _thought_ he was close. He had turned at the tree, and passed that purple creek that smelled like basil somehow, and he knew it was a straight shot from there to the grove where Mabel’s flower grew. Maybe he had overshot because he’d been walking for the better part of fifteen minutes when it should have taken him five and _man_ was he turned around because he had no idea where he was right now.

Dipper circled back around a few times but he didn’t seem to be making any progress. He didn’t recognize the trees he was seeing but he was pretty sure these were the same ones he should have passed five minutes ago, so what was going on? Only a minimal amount of sunlight filtered through the thickly packed trees, casting everything into shadow where there should have been golden rays lighting his way. He pulled out his cell phone, electronics usually didn’t work in the forest but he hadn’t realized he’d allowed himself to hope, before he felt his stomach plunge upon seeing he had no service. He was late by now, he’d probably missed Wendy’s arrival, and he still didn’t have Mabel’s flower so to say he was perturbed was only scratching the surface. Plus this whole area (wherever it was) was making the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. As adventurous as Dipper Pines was, he knew when to trust his gut, and his gut was currently asking him ‘Why the heck he was even still here?! Get out!?’

A snapping twig from behind him, caused Dipper to whirl around, head snapping towards the sound of the disturbance, his breath catching in his throat.

 

_No sooner had Peter gone than an enormous grey wolf_ did _come out of the forest._

 

Mabel yanked another weed from the soil.

 

_In a twinkling the cat climbed up the tree. The duck quacked, and in her excitement jumped out of the pond. But no matter how hard the duck tried to run, she couldn't escape the wolf. He was getting nearer, nearer, catching up with her._

He could hear something breathing in the shadow of the trees. Cautiously, Dipper backed up in the opposite direction of the rasping sound coming from the area directly ahead of him. He didn’t know what creature was there with him and for once he honestly didn’t care. He just wanted to find his way out of this Mobius strip of the woods he found himself trapped in and far away from whatever it was that seemed to be making him its prey. Dippers back hit the trunk of a tree unexpectedly and just as he swallowed a gasp. All the noise in the clearing died out; insect noises, the rustling of the tree, the crunch of the undergrowth beneath his feet, and the breathing, all were silent.

Dipper took a deep breath, turned and sprinted in the direction he had been backing up towards. His heart was pounding and he could feel it in his throat. He had to get out of this area, if he could just get out of here he could find safety. Find the Mystery Shack. He would be okay, he just couldn’t. Let. This. Thing. Catch. Him.

His legs were burning and the sharp sting of branches scratching his face and arms kept him solidly in reality as the adrenaline and panic coursed through his veins. He _was_ prey. Oh God what was chasing him?! He could hear something hitting the earth behind him that sounded like legs, and the breathing was back, now coming out in animalistic huffs. It was now intermingled with an unearthly mix of a growl and a screech. He couldn’t stop. If he stopped he was dead. He just had to keep running. He just had to find his way out.

He turned left and came crashing out a wall of green into an open meadow filled with the very flowers he had been searching for in the first place. He turned in a desperate circle eyes searching his surrounding wildly for any sign of his pursuer but all was peaceful. The clearing was flooded with sunlight and the yellow flowers bled their perfume into the warm breeze. No breathing, no footsteps, no screeching. His breath began to slow and his heart slowly crept back down from this throat to his chest. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

He’d lost his cap.

 

_Then he got her, and with one gulp, swallowed her._

 

A blur of black and red was his only warning. A sharp stinging pain sprang into his awareness, and looking down he saw red, bleeding through the tattered shreds of his shirt. A muzzle came towards him from his peripheral vision, sharp crooked teeth gleaming and angled for his throat.

“N-!”

 

Only the flowers were witness to the gurgling of struggling life, and the moment it gave up. Stained red and silent.

 

_And now, this is how things stood: the cat was sitting on one branch, the bird on another . . . not too close to the cat. And the wolf walked around and around the tree, looking at them with greedy eyes._

 

Mabel pressed pause. She was finished, and she had always hated this part of the story anyway. It used to make her cry when she was little, and Dipper would hold her hand and remind her that the duck was okay in the end. Wendy was waving to her and, filled with excitement, she bounded over to the redhead, hands covered with dirt and stained green.

.

.

.

 

In a clearing colored red and gold, a creature with a sharp smile and shining hair approached the tattered vessel on the ground, and extracted what seemed to be a pulsing light from it.

“Paid” the creature sneered, and vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

 

 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

            ‘ _Do we have a deal?’ The Goblin king looked at the man with expectant gleaming eyes, full of intention and empty of empathy. The brother stared long and hard into the distance, before returning his gaze to the golden being. Something seemed to be missing from his eyes now. Something essential._

_“Deal.”_


	3. Summon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the pain train! A wild Twin Peaks reference appeared

“The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly the one you'll never have.” 

-Søren Kierkegaard

If you have ever truly loved someone and understood that person to be an essential part of your life, then you have at some point reluctantly entertained the thought of losing them. It might have been while you spaced off during a tedious class lecture, while driving a long and empty stretch of highway, while walking down the hallway towards your office at your place of employment, or perhaps during the dead of night wrapped up in the quilt of your bed, warm and confined. Maybe it was then that the thought of them disappearing from your life crawled up from the dark recesses of your mind, and sank its claws into your consciousness. Human beings are fragile as a rule and we must all grapple with the idea of mortality, but somehow the idea of someone else’s mortality can be so much more paralyzing than your own. The idea that a day will come to pass when they are no longer here, no longer exist, and the earth will turn on uncaring that something so fundamental in your life has vanished, is a horrifying notion that would shake anyone. It could be several things that take them away: they could die in a car crash, their plane could go down, they could simply tire of you and leave you becoming as good as dead where you are concerned, or they could succumb in their sleep to a disease diagnosed too late. 

Mabel Pines, being a human being like most of us, had of course, entertained these thoughts about her loved ones, and experienced the silent horror of scenario before bundling them up and storing them away in the deep recesses of her mind. Such dark thoughts could not thrive in the naturally bright space of her mind. These thoughts, however, were just that; thoughts. They were never supposed to be anything else but just that. It was certainly never meant to become her reality.  
………  
She sees the thing in snapshots, hears underwater, and moves through molasses. Her memories had a more accurate account of what happened that morning than she did when it was happening. She was walking around to the front of the Mystery Shack with Wendy, laughing and finished with decorating the backyard with streamers, snacks, and balloons. She had set up a karaoke stage. Dipper was late. 

She rounded the corner of the building, and there, by the tree line was something lying in a heap of colors and fabric. She stared at it. She didn’t know what it was so she looked harder, but she had never seen anything like it before. Her vision had tunneled until all she saw was the object lying in front of the trees. The wind had picked up, and the pine trees had bowed their heads. Mabel’s hair whipped into her face and got in her mouth. Wendy screamed.

Mabel should have started, gasped, reacted in some way, she was just so heavy. Why was she heavy? She could move so, why didn’t she? She ought to at least comfort her friend, who had anguish ripping its way out of her throat. Wendy was gripping her tight, (when had Wendy reached for her?) arms and waist caught tight in the circle of her arms as though she was trying to hold her back. Wait, they were closer than before. When had she moved? How could she have moved when she was so heavy?  
“Oh, God”, someone (Wendy it must have been), choked behind her. “Dipper.”

Where was Dipper? He was still in the forest and he was taking his time. He promised to help her decorate. She had to make him work for his present. He missed welcoming Wendy back. Wendy who was shaking and Mabel couldn’t understand whywhowhat (?). Couldn’t understand what the object in front of the forest was. Dipper was late.

She saw brown curls on the object; saw a hand. She knew that hair, and she knew that hand. What were they doing there? What was she looking at? When had Gruncle Stan come outside? He was sprinting towards the object. Soos was climbing out of his pick-up truck with Melody behind him. He was back from the grocery store, with the Pitt Cola they had asked for. Their child was in the back seat, honey-haired and rosy cheeked. The child did not get out. Everyone was focused on the object and the trees were bowing. Wendy’s tears were soaking the back of her shirt. Gruncle Stan was hunched over the object, his face in his hands, shoulders heaving as he made broken sounds she’d never heard before. Soos was kneeling, Melody behind him one hand on his shoulder and one over her mouth. She saw in snapshots, heard underwater, and moved through molasses. Dipper was late.  
………..

Her awareness faded in and out, like focusing a pair of binoculars. The world was fuzzy but discernable until the moment all the details are thrown into sharp relief. The realization that Dipper was dead and that the object in front of the tree line was his destroyed body, was the catalyst of the first moment of sharp of sharp relief. It was not in her awareness one moment, and then the next it was. She was sure someone had told her at some point, had sat her down and tried to break it to her as gently as they could (was it a policeman? There were so many in the Shack and now it was crowded), but the knowledge was not in her mind until one specific and sudden moment. 

The next time she became aware, she was sitting on the couch with a blanket around her sweater-clad shoulders (the magenta one with the shooting star on it). Police and friends were moving around her in huddles groups. Wendy and her high school friends were in the gift shop speaking in low tones. She was sobbing into Robbie’s shoulder. She scanned the room, no purpose in her gaze other than to observe. She felt detached from her body, and her mind did not feel like her own. It was too quiet. It was too loud. She settled on Stan, and he must have seen something she could not feel because he finished his conversation he’d been having with Blubbs (Gruncle Stan talking to the police?) and sat down next to her and placed his wizened hand on the blanket that covered her. His gaze confused her. It had nausea, shock, deeply etched sorrow, and sympathy, but it also had…at least it looked like… understanding. How could he understand? How could he possibly understand what was happening to her? She was half of a whole now. She was a discarded part. She was bleeding from the open wound where her twin should be. She was alone. After that thought, she faded back out.

“We’ll be there by the day after tomorrow I promise sweetie.” Her mother was sobbing into her ear through the phone speaker. Mabel had no reply. Mabel had no memory of being handed the phone, or of anything her mother had said to her prior to this moment. She was aware of the weight of the phone in her hands, and the feeling of the smooth, warm plastic on her cheek. She must have been on the phone for some time or someone else had just handed it off to her. Gruncle Stan was leaning on the wall of the living room (she was still in the living room but now on the rug) with his head in his hands again, unmoving and hunched. He looked defeated. She had never seen him look that way before. Soos walked in, pale and shaking but determined, and place his hand on her Grucle’s shoulder. Stan leaned into the touch still hunched, face still hidden. Mabel felt her dried tears on her face, and her hair felt clumped with dried sweat. She wanted to take a shower. Mabel heard her mother sobbing through the phone speaker. She faded back out.

She was sitting on the bathroom floor; the cold tiles beneath her helping ground her for a moment. Someone was behind her pulling a brush through her hair with infinite gentleness, humming what sounded like a Sesame Street song. Mabel could smell jasmine and apples: it was Melody. Her face felt clean now, and her hair was slightly damp. Melody must have washed it for her. That was nice. The brush felt nice. She remembered another time her hair had been a mess and Dipper had shaved his head for her. That was still their favorite school picture. She wondered if her parents still had it. Mabel closed her eyes and stopped paying attention. She faded. Mabel was lying on her bed. The slanting light shining through the attic window told her it was nearing evening. She was dressed in her night clothes, freshly washed, and currently felt like she was in free-fall. She knew she was done fading and the part of her mind closest to being grounded rebelled, not wanting to face the continuing reality set before her. She was falling but you could only fall for so long before the ground caught up to you. She inhaled deeply, and exhaled, trying to maintain the feeling of suspension and turned her head towards the side of the room Dipper occupied whenever they had an impromptu sleepover or when he wanted some company while he was doing his research. 

There was a small desk (Dipper had saved up from his job in Piedmont to buy it second-hand) covered with loose papers, which were themselves covered in codes, drawings. An overflowing wastepaper basket sat beside it, full of rejected and imperfect ideas, and diagrams. There was a sleeping bag and a pillow underneath the desk. A bookshelf stood in the corner of the attic filled to the brim with any and all genres of books imaginable. Some were new and some old, some with titles and some with only symbols, some fiction, some non-fiction. Dipper’s Journal Number 3 was missing. He must have brought it with him when he……he….  
Just like that, Mabel finished her fall and hit the ground. She turned her head just in time for her wail to be swallowed up by her pillow, and she shook with the ferocity of the sobs that ripped their way out of her throat. She didn’t want to live in this world, this twisted reality where she was alone. She was a twin, she was never meant to be alone, she wasn’t supposed to know what this felt like, much less live like this for the rest of her life. 

The rest of her life. 

That was how long she would have to be without him now. 

She didn’t realize she was still waiting for him to show up, put his arms around her shoulders and talk her into coming out of Sweater Town. She realize just how much she expected it until she was being hollowed out inside and he was not there for her. He couldn’t be. He was dead. He wasn’t supposed to be dead. She didn’t want to keep thinking about this. She didn’t want to wake up every morning and have this be reality. She wanted to have her eighteenth birthday party with her friends and her brother, laughing and singing badly and having the best time of the summer. She wanted to give Dipper his present and see what he had gotten her this year. Had he gotten her a present? Would she ever get it? Did she even still want it if he wasn’t there to give it to her? Why was she thinking about that? She was empty where she used to be full and instead of making her feel lighter she was infinitely heavier, like the world had poured a little of all it was inside of her and it was crushing her chest. She had died with him, or at least, a part of her had. It was the part of her that had Dipper in her life, the part that should have been celebrating their first step into adulthood with him. The part of her that belonged to a future that hadn’t yet happened and now never would, and been ripped from her like Dippers body had been ripped apart by whatever had gotten to him. She mourned it’s loss like she mourned him. She wanted that future back and she wanted the pain gone and she was so afraid that made her selfish to be thinking only about herself and her own pain when her brother was dead. Not yet even in the ground.  
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t stop thinking. She needed relief. She needed to gather her thoughts, but her thoughts were the shape edge of a knife and her fingers couldn’t hold them. She wanted to rest. She was so tired. She wanted her brother.

Eventually, she slept.

 

She was in her garden. It was freshly weeded and smelled of freshly tilled earth. She reached down to pluck a rose and a thorn pricked her thumb. She startled and looked at the stinging finger before looking up again. She was in The Club. The nicest restaurant in town, the red curtains and dim lighting betraying her location immediately. There were no tables, no patrons, no staff, just the empty building with the red chair she was sitting in. A lamp next to another chair across from her, dimly illuminating a couch beside it. All the furniture was black, and the lamplight was yellow. She felt disconnected but present, as though she was in her body but suspended, as though her mind was floating away. Everything felt heavy and slow. Dipper was sitting on the couch, smiling pleasantly at her, dressed formally in all black with his hair slicked back to reveal his birthmark in all its glory. How strange. He never liked to show it off.

A shuffling sound caused her to turn her head, slowly and feeling resistance the whole way. Her eyes eventually landed on Gruncle Stan, standing in the corner of the room. There was no fez upon his head, and he was facing away from her at the moment and twitching oddly, as though his body couldn’t seem to settle. She turned back toward Dipper, who smirked knowingly at her and tapped his finger to his nose.  
All at once the figure turned abruptly with a clap of its hands.  
Yes, he was her Gruncle Stan.  
Wasn’t he? There was something different about him. Maybe the angle of his nose or the shape of his brow?  
“Let’s begin!” the man who was and was not her Gruncle exclaimed, making his way over to the empty chair next to Dipper. The lamp next to the chair made his face glow, but somehow harder to discern, the details becoming obscured in the light. Although she understood his words they came out all odd, as though he were speaking backward and forewords simultaneously. The man rubbed his hands and she heard a ringing sound. She shadows of the room seemed to shift.

“I have good news!”, the man leaned forwards, his eyes intently trained on her. “That juice you make is going to become the hottest new trend!”  
Mabel turned from the Not-Stan and gazed at Dipper.  
“He’s my twin.” The man explained in his garbled speech, “But doesn’t he look almost exactly like Dipper Pines.” He leaned towards her as though he were confiding in her a great secret. Mabel was puzzled, and she rejected the information even though it must have been true. After all the man would know what his brother looked like.  
Still, she couldn’t help but insist,“But that is Dipper.” Only Dipper had that birthmark after all.  
“You are Dipper, right?” Right?  
Dipper(?) tilted his chin up slightly, and when he spoke his voice was garbled in the same way same as the man. His face scrunched up as though he was choking on his words. “I’m having a hard time remembering. I tried to tend to the roses, but the thorns tore my hands.” When he finished, the pained look disappeared and he went back to smiling serenely, a fond look in his eyes.  
The man quirked an eyebrow and smiled knowingly, “He is made of secrets.”  
The man’s smile dropped abruptly, and he blinked, as though startled from thought. For a moment, she would have said he almost looked sad.  
Then he glanced back at Dipper(?) and returned to his previous state.  
“Where we’re from the stars are made of stones, and the peaches are always ripe.” He chuckled, and Mabel’s hair stood on end. “An eye for an eye my dear. My heart reflects my head.” 

Music began playing from all around them, and a flashing light disturbed the dim lighting, as though a giant camera was going off in front of them all. The man rose from his chair and walked towards the source of the flashing, swaying and humming along to the music. Mabel wasn’t disturbed, she just kept her eyes on Dipper, who rose from his seat and made his way over to her. He smiled at her and, suddenly overwhelmed with contentment, she smiled back. She wanted to laugh, Dipper was with her, and everything was how it should be. He leaned close to her and she could smell baking pine needles, with something metallic underneath. He kissed her cheek and his lips were cold. He put his mouth next to her ear and cupped it with his mouth.  
He whispered to her.

Mabel jerked awake with a gasp. It was completely dark in the attic now, the sun had set, and the night was well underway. She was shaking and breathing heavily, her mind in turmoil as she tried to keep a grip on the dream she had just had. Dipper had been in it and he had told her something so important, but try as she might she couldn’t remember what he had said. Somewhere in her rational mind, she knew it was just a dream but it felt like Dipper had just told her his last words, and she had forgotten them. She wanted to cry all over again. Why had Gruncle Stan been there? Nothing he had said that she could remember made any kind of sense. Maybe it really did mean nothing. She really wanted to go back to sleep so she didn’t have to think but she wasn’t tired now.

She pulled her rabbit slippers out from under her bed, and walked towards the window, trying to make as little sound as possible, weary of the creaking floorboards. The moon was full, silver light dripping from it coated everything in an illusion of wealth. She shivered as she gazed at it. The forest was still now, the wind had died down. The pine trees stood tall and proud. She hated it, she decided in that moment, she hated the forest that he had loved so much because it had killed him. It had tempted her brother with the promise of discovery and importance, with the unknown and the fantastic. He had mapped it and studied it and devoted so much of his life and mind to its message and history. It had only repaid him with death, spitting out his mangled body like a chewed-up piece of gum. Mabel realized she didn’t really know much about what had happened other than Dipper being killed. Did they know what it was that had killed him? How had his body, which must have been deep into the woods at that point, come to be outside the tree line. She hadn’t seen anyone there when she and Wendy had…had found it. She wanted to ask Stan but… she wasn’t sure she could voice it yet. To talk about it meant it was real, and while she understood what her reality was, she wanted just a little while longer before she had to accept it.

She studied the triangular window before her; its design was strange to her and had always been. It opened by the split going down the middle, which cut directly through what looked (at least to her) like an eye. Dipper didn’t- hadn’t seen it but she had always felt like that window was watching her.

For the rest of her life she couldn’t have explained why she did what she did next. Perhaps it was because she was exhausted and drowning in grief, and it had made her irrational. Perhaps she was influenced by a spell. Perhaps it was fate. We are not to know. What is certain however, is that Mabel Pines looked directly into the windows eye and murmured quietly, almost like she was praying: “I would do anything to get him back.” 

The wind picked back up with a moan, and clouds blotted out the moon. The silver quality of the light dulled to gray, and all noise ceased as the world around her seemed to freeze. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back as the window began to glow and bight gold, glaring and harsh against the washed-out moon that seemed to make up the pupil of the windows eye.

A manic laugh filled her ears, and what sounded like distant thunder shook her being. She shut her eyes against the noise and the light until the insides of her eyelids were no longer illuminated.

Upon opening her eyes, she beheld a beautiful and terrible creature, with a sharp golden smile.

“Well, well, well Shooting Star, you finally called.”


	4. The King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story finally begins

**Streets that follow like a tedious argument**

**Of insidious intent**

**To lead you to an overwhelming question…**

**Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”**

**Let us go and make our visit.**

**-The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock**

**T.S. Eliot**

 

“‘ _It was said, that at the beginning of the world when all things were created, the Goblins were a race that was never meant to be. The sun danced with a silver lady, who wore his light. When he died at the ending of the day she wept and from her tears the stars were made, and when she died at dawn the sun rose again he screamed so loudly it ripped the sky, and the filling fell out, creating clouds. The earth stretched as she woke from her sleep and canyons formed, as the ground shifted. All the fair-folk who lived underground felt too cramped, and so pushed the plants the grew from the ceiling up to the surface, where they remain to this day, still retaining a small bit of magic from their origins. Truly the creation of the creatures and places of the earth were all mystical and strange, but Goblins, it is said, were created by accident when a cloud brushed up against the nose of the sun, and when he sneezed Goblins shot from his mouth.’_

_This is the story I was provided from the King’s vast library and I’m not sure what to make of it. It would be just like these creatures to make up their own history as a joke, but…. Well I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the truth. Once again Gravity Falls is leading me for a dance. I’ll ask McGuckett his opinion later.”_

  * Excerpt from the Journal of Unknown Author



 

 

William (Bill) Umbrea Morphas Cipher was a rare and dazzling sight to behold, and he knew this very well. He often used his appearance to distract those he wished to manipulate or disarm those he wished to harm. It was pathetically easy. All he had to do was let a little of the pearly white gleam of his smile shine through his pointed smile and they never noticed the sharpness of his teeth. Just let the golden strands of his hair catch the light of where ever he was and they never noticed how it wasn’t actually hair. All he had to do was let the dark shade of his skin appear smooth and soft and they never realized that it couldn’t possibly be real. Let the gold of his eye gleam warm and liquid, and they never noticed the pupils were more reptilian than human. Humans were so easily distracted that they never noticed the danger or would ignore it thinking something so beautiful couldn’t be all bad. Bill would often chuckle darkly after a successful visit to the human world, covered in blood and whatever else, thinking it was funny how dumb they all were.

When he had been informed that he would marry a human (for he had resolved to break the ridiculous tradition and not marry at all) he had been furious. Stupid, weak, disgusting, magicless creatures that they were, he would not be saddled with one for all eternity. He had killed the oracle who had told him, (ripped her lying tongue out and watched as she choked on her own blood) and had spent a great amount of energy trying to find a way out of the damning prophecy.

He had grown up knowing the words of this prophecy. It was sung at every festival and holiday, and he had listened without knowing it was referring to him. The prophecy of a queen who came from the stars they could no longer see from their underground world, who would wed a volatile Goblin King. She melts his heart and leads the Goblins back to the forest they had once lived in before the magic had largely left the earth above. Never once had the songs mentioned she might be a human, and it had certainly not mentioned that _he_ was the king in question that would be wed to her. To his unending fury, the oracle had told him the meaning of his dreams meant both of those things.

Oh, the dreams. It was an odd thing for Bill to experience them, as he was often their crafter (If you have ever had a dream that was neither good nor bad, just simply puzzling, Bill had woven it). Therefore, when he had the same dream repeatedly with no clue to their meaning, he called in the oracle. She had been a part of the kingdom for as long as any of the goblins could remember. Blind and hunched, and always smelling of wild onions, the ancient goblin had delivered all the great prophecies known to their kind. He had told her what he had seen, night after night, of the tall evergreen, and the dazzling star he could not reach.

“The star is your bride” she had told him. “The Pine Tree her guard. If you want her it must be because she leaves the safety of its protection on her own.” Then she had told him the rest: that they were the fated couple of the prophecy and he had killed her for it. The action had shaken his subjects. It was an unthinkable thing that the oracle could die.  He was able to distract them with revelries, as goblins generally became easily distracted, but he had still fumed and trembled at the oracles final message. She had never been wrong.

For several centuries, he had stewed in his disgust and failed in his search to find a way to defy such an ingrained prophesy. At least, not without causing a great amount of destruction (destruction that, for once, he would not find amusing). He had just ended up deciding that he would kill this human once he became aware of her birth. She would be drawn to him eventually so finding her wouldn’t be too difficult, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. Besides, he eventually found a new project to focus on, and it kept if very busy, and very amused.

When he had felt her presence in the forest where his magic could still hold sway on the surface, he’d felt relief and annoyance. He was more than ready to kill the brat and have this ordeal over and done with, and collect his payment. He had peered through one of his many portals into the world above and finally caught a glimpse of the girl who had plagued him for so many years. She had been young but with the first hints of womanhood appearing in her features and he had been completely floored by the _vividness_ of her.

She was full of magic. The pure and ancient kind, untapped and just waiting in her blood, simmering under her skin giving her an ethereal glow. Her hair as it cascaded down her back was woven with all the colors of the universe, both visible and invisible. When she spoke, the faint sound of chimes accompanied her voice, which was loud and expressive. She was perfect, and he had wanted to see more, come closer, but just as he was about to extend his sight, another human came to stand beside her. This child had been male but similar in the face and age. A twin wearing a cap with a pine tree sewn into it and it all finally clicked.

So, this boy was what prevented him from reaching her, this dazzling creature absolutely fit to be his queen? He had squinted. The boy hadn’t looked like much at all, with his nervous expression and thin limbs. What was to stop him from snatching the girl away from this sapling? He’d reached for the girl through the shadows of the trees, almost close enough to touch her start laden hair, when the boy had turned. Somehow, even though Bill was invisible to him, the boy had known exactly where Bills eyes were. He had stared straight into them, unseeing, and if Bill had been human the hairs on his neck and arms would have stood on end. Then the pain. A horrible stabbing pain, more terrible than anything he had felt in centuries ripped through the eye he covered with cloth and tore into his head. Behind his eyes, he had seen Ursa Major burning his iris with its light. That day he had learned that the girl was not the only one with ancient magic in her blood. It would not be as simple as just spiriting the girl away when she had such an effective shield. He would have to be patient. You could fell any tree, given enough patience.

Now finally, there she was in front of him, alarmed certainly but steady and absolutely blazing with light invisible to her mortal eyes. His Shooting Star. It was finally time, he had finally found her, and oh if she wasn’t just as beautiful as he had hoped she would be. He wasn’t talking about the flesh-bag she wore. Not that it was unpleasant with her dark hair and eyes, the gentle slope of her shoulders outlined by the nightgown she wore (it was covered in unicorns?) but he ultimately didn’t care about her form. He of all beings would know just how flimsy the outward appearance was. He was, instead, looking at the _magic,_ the _potential_ within her, and oh it was enchanting! He had never been so glad to be proven wrong about a human!

Her eyes were shining with sparks of light and would have been casting the whole room in a golden glow if she were in his realm with her magic made corporeal. What had she seen that had left such an imprint within her irises? He couldn’t wait to find out. She was a living gem, a rare treasure he had been waiting to obtain for centuries, and as a Goblin, he was obligated to take. But there she was staring at him in growing confusion, as he stared at her in satisfaction. He held back a chuckle. Really, he was being rude and that was no way for a monarch to behave towards his future queen.

The prophecy that had tormented him, his dreams that taunted him, and the prison of his world, would all finally be put away and forgotten. In front of him was all that he needed to finally achieve his full potential and he wanted to snatch her away and tuck her into his kingdom where she would remain forever. His nature, however, prevented him from doing so. She had to come to him willingly for him to be able to keep her as he wanted, and for that to happen, he needed to be patient just a little while longer. He began to weave his web, to catch a falling star.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

The creature stretched a grin over his sharp teeth, one filled with rare but genuine glee, and bowed low at the waist, one hand swooping to lift his top hat from his head and allowing his golden hair to fall free around his pointed face.

“You called me my Star?” his voice spilled high and nasally, from his thin lips as he tilted his head up, winking roguishly at the girl in front of him. She rewarded him with a pretty blush that highlighted her freckles (his Star covered in stars, he thought gleefully), and pursed her rosebud lips in an attempt to hide that she was flustered. She took a deep breath, those glowing eyes steeling themselves, blocking him from seeing further into her iris. It irritated him, but he covered the feeling as he straightened up and met her gaze.

“Who are you?” She demanded and he snickered.

“Don’t you mean ‘what’ Star?”

“Why are you calling me that? It’s not my name.”

“Ah, but this name reflects who you are so much more than your _other_ useless name.” She appeared a tad startled at that response.

“Well since you know my name somehow, if you won’t tell me yours I’ll make one up.”

“Ooooh, what title would my Star bestow upon me.” She crossed her arms and gave him an all-over scathing glance.

“Creepy.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Well, that’s what people think about…. beings…. that pop in on girls in their nightgowns uninvited in the middle of the night and don’t immediately state their business.” Well, that was a sentence she had never expected to utter.

“You already know why I’m here Star.” At her confused expression, he clarified, “You called me my dear.” Her scathing look devolved into a glare.

“I’ve had a hell of a day. I’m in no mood for riddles.”

He sneered and retaliated mockingly, “Aw but you were being so entertaining Star. So snarky and clever so soon after her brother has been slaughtered.” He paused and his smile turned cruel. “I wonder how long it will take her to forget him.” She went paler than snow, as her expression got caught somewhere between outrage, shock, and horror. “You’ve been very rude Star.” He purred as he narrowed his eyes, pleased to see her gulp. “I don’t often let mortals get away with such irreverent behavior.” Her mouth opened and shut in an attempt to retaliate but no sound escaped, performing an excellent impression of a landed fish.

“However,” he shot a finger up before she could manage a response, “I’m here to grant you your desire, after all...” his grin turned savage, “you said you would give ‘ _anything’_ to have him back.” She swallowed hard and some of the color returned to her face, but she still refused to look away from him. Already she was showing more bravery than many of the thousands who came before her.

“I didn’t know anyone was listening.” She responded carefully.

He giggled, “When you wish upon a Star.”

Mabel dearly wished she could snap at him to shut up or to at the very least demand that he stop speaking in riddles, but there was a dangerous if leery hope growing in her chest. She decided to not try to antagonize the glowing creature…thing in her room.

“If-” she paused a moment to gather her nerves because if this was real-if it was- then this might be the most important thing she ever did. “If you _are_ here to help” she didn’t bother to cover the suspicion in her tone, “Then I want to know your name, who you are, and what- where you come from.”

The creature in front of her, in his fitted golden suit that matched the luster of his hair, further narrowed his yellow eye at her. The other eye was covered with a black eye patch that had a golden eye of providence stitched into it in gold thread (she swore she saw it blink a few times) and he seemed to be both impressed and annoyed at her demand.

She was more level headed about the situation that he had assumed she would be, but he still bowed his head respectfully (or as respectfully as someone like him could manage) and flourished his hand in a dramatic curve above his head.

“I am William the King of the Goblins, you may call me Bill.” He straightened and met her dazzling gaze once more. “I am from the old world, where magic still lives and thrives.” His gaze turning greedy, “You are much more suited for such a world than this dying one.” He folded his long fingers together behind his back and began to circle her, causing Mabel to feel more like prey or a piece of art being appraised at every angle. “I understand you want your brother back. There is magic that could grant you this. His body has not been cold for so long that it could not be healed and his soul restored.”         Mabel’s heart jumped to her throat and desperation began to try to claw its way through her sense. God she could make this go away! This emptiness, the endless future without her twin, she could get rid of it! She couldn’t trust him at all and he was offering her everything she wanted.

However, that his offer was so perfect caused her to actively restrain her response. She and Dipper had lived in Gravity Falls every summer since they were twelve, and together they had faced the many different creatures that the Forest and the town had to offer. She hadn’t had that much experience with the unusual just to learn nothing about caution.        

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and gazed hard at the grinning goblin (she didn’t know they could be so unnaturally attractive). “I want my brother Dipper Oren Pines, to be alive with his body healed, and his soul back, intact and unharmed. I want my parents to not remember that he had died, but remember who he is and that he’s their son and they love him. He must be himself. If you mess with his manner, soul, or personality the deal is off.” She continued to stare into his eye, his face a polite mask of patience, and he motioned for her to continue. She began again with a little more confidence; “Dipper has to be returned to this world, in this time, the same age he was when he died (she almost choked on the word), and your price, because I know there will be one-“ she pointed a finger accusingly at the monarch, and he held his hands up in a surrender, a smirk quirking at his lips, “cannot be something that involves the death or souls of my family or anyone in this town in exchange for him or otherwise.” She finished with her voice strong and her head held high. Only when she’d finished did she realize that her hands were clenched into fists.

He lowered his hands when she had remained quiet long enough for him to assume she was finished. “Is that all?” he inquired, an amused tint to his voice, as though her serious approach to the situation was endearing. “If you’re quite sure you’ve covered everything”, he giggled, “we should get started.”

She sniffed. “You have to tell me your price, and then I’ll tell you if I agree.” They both knew there was very little he could propose that she would refuse. Still, he must be cautious, the steaks for this game were too great to be haughty or callous.

 He began to explore the room, keeping his body relaxed, and his gaze distracted while he pretended to ponder what he wanted from her. The room was small, just an attic made into a makeshift bedroom, but it was covered in brightly covered posters of rather pretty human men and the ceiling was strung with paper lanterns. There were also what the humans wrongly called “fairy lights”, and in one corner a large pile of knitting projects laid in an impressive variety of colors and shapes. The girl was smart, quick, and rather witty if he was being honest but she didn’t know nearly as much as she needed to at least have a chance at winning this game. He turned to face her and made his move.

“Well Shooting Star”, he might as well use her full title since this was business. “This sort of magic is,” he paused for dramatic effect, “complicated. It takes a lot of concentration and power of course, but magic itself demands that  the balance is kept.” He clasped his hands in front of him and gave her a stern, mockingly scholarly gaze. “If us magical creatures went on raising the dead willy-nilly the cycle of nature would be thrown off. The very magic itself would become volatile, trying to restore order.” He dropped the ruse and bared his teeth in a feral, gleeful smile. “Although let me tell you that kind of chaos is an absolute _delight_! All sorts of creatures crawling the earth, and bubbles of pure madness, ahh don’t tempt me Star.” He paused to let what he had said sink in, and give her a moment to ponder it before he continued. “Usually with this sort of thing, a life must be taken to be restored, but-” he held up his gloved hand to prevent the protest she had opened her mouth to express, “as you have specified that no one is to be sacrificed with this deal, you will have to make a sacrifice of a different kind.” She closed her mouth and gave him an adorably puzzled look. “Come now my dear, “he cooed, “there are ways to sacrifice a life besides death.” She balked and he continued quickly before she became too skittish. “You must complete a task that will cause you to risk your precious life, if you complete it, showing your intention to sacrifice is true, then I will be able to restore your brother.”

She lowered her gaze to the wooden floor of the attic, taking a moment to steel herself before looking back up and asking the million-dollar question. “What would the task be?”

He grinned his sharp grin again, all predatory and hungry. “You must navigate my maze of course. It stretches miles, and is filled with all sorts of challenges.” He giggled again and he leaned forward, as though to share some sort of secret with her “It’s made of magic you see, which means the obstacles as, you might say, custom made for the traveler.” She looked thoroughly unamused, which was impressive considering how fast he could hear her heart beating. “Get through my maze by dawn tomorrow and reach my castle, and I will restore your brother to you, just as you have asked.” She had been thorough enough that if he had wanted to cause a problem for the boy, and he could, it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Not that she was going to win, but still he was decently impressed.

“And what happens if I don’t?” Oh, he was enjoying this girl, she got straight to the point, didn’t she?

“If you fail,” he glided across the distance between them, close enough to touch but not reaching out to do so (close enough to feel the electric-like tingle of her magic as it enveloped him like a curious blanket). He gazed down at her, her head coming to about his neck, “You become my bride” he breathed softly, rustling her hair as he spoke.

“What wuh?” She started back away from him, and he had to suppress a growl as the warmth of her powers retreated. “Marry you?! Ugh, you _are_ a creep! What do you think this is an anime?!” He blinked, not really sure how to respond to that. What was an anime? Why could she not react like she should be with fear and maybe a little bit of a fluster? Was it too much to ask?

“Gah, why do you want to do that?” She demanded, and with no small amount of relief, he took the opening and ran with it.

“Silly Star didn’t you know Goblin Kings always take a human for a bride?” He threw in a cackle that he was sure (hoped) would unnerve her. “That would, of course, mean you could never come back here, and your family would lose both yourself and your brother with no clue as to where you had gone, and this kind of union is forever.” He tapped the side of his pointed nose, “No divorce for the fey, so be absolutely sure. It may be old fashioned but that is the way of these things you know.” He winked at her and she turned a bit green, the glow of her dimming for a moment. He frowned not liking that at all.

His demeanor became serious for the first time since his arrival. “This is my deal.”

She was still looking a bit ill but the glow came back full force, determination present in every line of her body. He knew her answer before she opened her mouth. She knew that he knew this.

“Deal”, she stuck out her hand.  
“Deal”, he shook her hand and both became encased in blue fire, causing her to gasp but not let go. “Let’s begin, then. Do try to stay quiet, silence if the way of this challenge. I’ll pop in every now in then to update you on your time. I’ll be watching you.” And with that, the Goblin King vanished and Mabel Pines lost her balance as the world began to spin around her in a kaleidoscope of color and sound.

The game had begun.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying any of this is original but I saw it very vividly in my head while hiking at a hermitage. There was a statute trail and my imagination just grabbed it and ran. I hope you guys like it, thank you so much for leaving kudos and following this story! I know my updating schedule is sporadic but I promise you this story will be seen through to the end. Please leave comments even if it’s something silly and especially if you want to give feedback, every comment is motivation to me!  
> Enjoy!

A theme that can be universally recognized in a fairytale, epic, or any kind of story is the “hero’s journey” where the protagonist must undergo certain transformations along their quest to achieve their goal. Growing up Mabel had read any sort of story about magic and unicorns (or science fiction if she was in the mood for it). So, by this point she was familiar enough with the device to recognize that she was now experiencing it for herself.

 

None of this was going to be easy was it?

 

As soon as the blinding light had finally died down, and her eyes had adjusted, she discovered she was standing in the middle of a dense forest. She had stumbled slightly trying to regain her bearings as best she could. She looked down and noticed she was no longer in her nightgown but in shorts and a plain yellow shirt. Her previously slipper covered feet were now covered with hiking boots. Had Bill changed her clothes? She didn’t want to linger on that thought as it sent a shiver of disgust down her spine.

The scent of dried earth and baking leaves hit her nostrils in a wave of sudden sensation, drowning it something at once familiar and foreign. Looking around she thought the forest seemed strikingly familiar to the forest of Gravity Falls her brother had often explored (‘the forest that killed him’ her mind unhelpfully supplied). The difference with this forest however, was that it _felt_ different. It seemed to vibrate with something ancient, something powerful, more mysterious and full of quiet intensity than the forest she was more familiar with.

This forest was also completely silent.

There was a slight breeze rustling the trees, there were twigs and dead leaves beneath her feet that gave way to her weight as she stepped on them, and small movements around her suggested small animals (or Gnomes, she had learned to never assume) were scampering through the surrounding foliage. There was movement and her surroundings were disturbed, but none of it created any sound. The warm sunlight of a summer evening spilled through the trees, giving a soft golden glow to the dominant browns and greens of her surroundings. The warmth of summer sat heavy in the air and in her lungs.

She spun around to get an idea of where to go or what to do. There was a path beneath her feet that stretched out in from of her and behind her, suggesting she follow it but maybe she shouldn’t. Even if she did which way should she walk, forwards or backwards?

Closing her eyes, she tried to recall the last thing Bill had told her before she had allowed herself to be thrown into this mess. ‘ _Do try to stay quiet’_. She was starting to understand what he meant, as she considered her silent environment. Was this the maze itself or just part of a puzzle? Or… where the puzzles the actual maze? She huffed (just air; no voice in the action) and thought quite irritably that she should have demanded more of an explanation from that Goblin before she spirited her away to, well, wherever this was.

She shivered suddenly and whipped her head around, feeling certain that someone was watching her, and started as she suddenly noticed aspens surrounded her. Why was it taking her so long to take stick of her surrounding? It was like her mind was only slowly bringing her perception into focus, which was terrifying because she needed to be sharp! The bark of each tree was covered in patterns that looked unnervingly like unblinking eyes, and they all seemed to gaze at her at her. Bill’s nasally voice promising ‘ _I’ll be watching you!’_ cut into her thoughts. Normally she would have shaken off her uneasiness as paranoia, but seeing as she was in a Goblins magic puzzle maze thing… she decided to walk forward.

 

* * *

 

The first hour of walking through thick foliage had resulted in her working up a sweat making her worry, ridiculously, about when the next time she would be able to shower. She wasn’t sure how long she had been walking because after a while she noticed the sun was definitely not moving and she didn’t have a watch, or anything else that might indicate to her the passage of time. Her heels were starting to get blisters and her legs were sore so she knew she had to have been going for a while. It was a bit unnerving how she wasn’t thirsty given how much she was sweating, nor was she hungry in the slightest.  Her best theory on the situation that she could devise was that maybe time was just kind of stalled here, and her biological functions (for the most part) along with it.

The landscape didn’t change beyond the kind of forest she was familiar with as she hiked, but it all seemed exaggerated somehow. It was as though the land itself was determined to remind her that she was lost in this place. That she was insignificant and small.

She had passed through a thing grove of pine trees where the scent of cooking pine needles simmered in the air, filling her lungs and coating the back of her tongue. She climbed a series of stone steps inscribed with unfamiliar runes, which here well on their way to being swallowed up by the earth, and had vanished completely after she had climbed the last one. At one point, she had emerged from a seemingly endless tunnel of trees reaching about an inch above her head, only to emerge and find herself surrounded by a sea of giant ferns, and still through all of this she felt neither hungry nor thirsty.

 Halfway through the sea of ferns she had stopped and simply stood there for who-knew-how-long and spaced out hard, before snapping back to herself when Dipper’s voice had echoed in a memory. She wasn’t panicked but that in itself might have been a cause for worry as this was certainly a panic worthy situation, and she found herself having a difficult time feeling anything other than _tired_.

Her feet carrying her almost mechanically onward. She was, to her dismay, finding out that just because she didn’t feel the biological needs she normally felt did not mean she didn’t feel _tired._ It was starting to feel like she was steadily being filled with weights causing her feet to drag and her back to stoop.

Wondering now through a part of the forest thick with oak and maple, she felt her mind drifting off with what should have been alarming frequency. Honestly, she regarded herself with a sort of detached bemusement as though she were viewing the whole thing from a distance. Or rather, viewing it all at a distance while suspended in a jar of molasses.

Breaking through the thick tree line Mabel emerged to find the path had now led her to the edge of a massive field of looked like corn (which was _not_ common in Oregon where Gravity Falls was located) with thinly spaced trees around the perimeter. The sky was a robins egg blue and the only clouds were the white and soft looking variety that suggested, very convincingly no matter how old or knowledgeable you were, that they were soft and most certainly solid enough to sleep on. The whole time she had been in this land she still had yet to hear a single sound. Her footsteps made no sounds, there was no birdsong, no rustling leaves, no voice to her breathing. Nothing.

She was starting to wonder what would happen if she tried to speak. Would she even be able to? She spoke so often, her voice was her main form of expression. Was she still herself without it?

Squinting against the sunlight now unblocked by any trees, she took in her surroundings, trying to find any sort of landmark that might suggest progress if reached. She was having a difficult time reminding herself why she was bothering, or even what she was doing in the first place. It was so warm, and the feeling of suspension was causing her to feel farther and farther away from her aching body.

Maybe she _was_ tired. Maybe if she just paused a moment she could clear her foggy head.

‘If I just sat down a moment.’

‘The sky is lovely here, I could lie down and find shapes in the clouds’

‘Surely I’ve gone on long enough to have earned a break’

‘Just for a moment….I could lie down…. _lie back…..rest….r e s t  w i t h  u s…’_

With a gasp, Mabel shot up from where she had been lying in the field and, panicking, questioned how she had gotten to the middle of the field? She didn’t remember lying down!). There were leaves and roots covering her arms and legs and there were poppies growing through her hair. She yanked them off with more force than necessary and stumbled to her feet, feeling woozy and off balance as she spun in circles trying to regain her bearings.

She could see the tree line she had come from a way in front of her now but had no memory of travelling that distance. Even now her panic was slowly seeping away, replaced by the lethargy and weariness that had been growing inside her. She tried to hold on to her fear, to fight the strange force that had been compelling her to stop and rest. She had to remember this was dangerous; that she had a limited amount of time that Dipper was counting on her.

This was ridiculous though! She had been wandering and wandering and still had no clue how to move on from here. There was no one to trick into telling her what to do, nowhere to take shelter and plan. Nothing to give her any idea of what to do.        

She was contemplating seeing if she could try to call Bill and demand some sort of explanation or hint other than the hasty suggestion he had given her when she saw it. A figure under one of the trees surrounding the edge of the field, tall and still against the blue sky. Its arms raised slightly from its sides, as though it had been stopped halfway through beckoning her.

Her breath caught in her throat and she froze. She couldn’t have explained why is you had asked her, but she was suddenly very convinced that this thing was something to be weary of. It was only after another moment of observation that she realized that the skin of the figure was the wrong texture or color for any kind of skin, and was instead, very obviously stone. She hated being right.

She suddenly noticed that her feet were carrying her towards it without her say so, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to stop. She passed the statue slowly, never taking her eyes of its face glued to the dead eyes of the thing. It was looking back at her, frozen in an imploring expression as though it were about to gently reason with her on some point. She turned her head for a moment catching a glimpse of a pond covered on all sides but the one she was approaching by forest and two more eager looking statues, before turning back and waking up from her daze with a snap when she saw that the thing was an inch from her face. Its expression was frozen into a wide smile that showed more teeth than it should have and its blank eyes were wide and crazed.

Finding her own desire to move again quite abruptly, Mabel stumbled back from it beating a hasty retreat and snapped her head around to make sure she wouldn’t run into one of the statues behind her, only to find that they to had appeared to move closer to her as well, similar desperate smiles on their faces. There was now what seemed to be about eight of them, all along the shore of the pond.

Mabel was on the verge of hyperventilating and there was a pressure building up behind her ears making it hard to concentrate. She was usually the one that kept the, if not calm, then determined head in situations of crisis. She was the one that had some quick plan or noticed the odd detail others missed that brought the whole thing together, especially when Dipper was in a panic because his million-step plan had failed or when Gruncle Stan was too wrapped up in his own irritation to think clearly. Right now, however, she was out of her depth and she was about to panic because as she spun desperately around trying to impossibly keep her eyes on all the statues at once, more and more of them began emerging from the tree line from across the lake. They were steadily creeping forward, all frozen with outstretched arms and smiling faces.

She ran to the edge of the water, the pressure in her head was now enough to cause tears to spring to her to, and clutching the sides of her head she opened her mouth to release the scream of fear and frustration that had been building up in her throat. No sound came out. She tried again, and nothing. She yelled silently until her veins popped from her neck and her face turned bright red. She yelled until her throat should have been raw but nothing passed her lips. She was beginning to feel dizzy, the vibrant colors of the forest becoming to rich and the sun too bright in her teary eyes. The ground beneath her began to sway. The statues closest to her were almost able to touch her. The tears in her eyes tickled her nose.

She sneezed.

The sound of her voice in that sneeze came as an alarming jolt, unprepared as she was for the sound. It sprang like a bullet from her mouth and she could almost see it speeding towards the lake in front of her. The next sound she heard (she had _missed_ sound, it was so vivid now, how long had she been wondering without it?) was that of shattering glass as she saw the surface of the lake shatter like a mirror. The fractured surface rippled oddly before settling again but now, instead of the sky reflected back at her, it was a maze of some kind. A labyrinth

 Then the rest of the noise hit her and for a second she was crippled by it. All around her the statues, leaves beneath her feet, the very trees it seemed, were screaming horrible bloodcurdling screams. They all vibrated through her, different pitches, different voices, all of them desperate, lonely wails, and the statues closest to her were the most deafening. It certainly explained the pressure in her ears.

Mabel stumbled back; desperate to be anywhere but where she was and fell through the mirror pond into a nightmare that was only beginning.

 

 

_Today he told me about the Murmurationis Silvarum. Apparently, there is a forest that is made entirely from the souls of those who sold their lives to their pursuits at the expense of those who depended on them. They are transported upon death to a forest, which appears to be completely silent but is actually filled with the screams of those trapped there. They are then doomed to wander this endless place all the while their minds register the horrible noise of their surroundings. Eventually they become so weighed down that they succumb to exhaustion emotionally and mentally and the forest claims them. The first to be transformed take the form of statues to subdue the more stubborn ones._

_When I asked him how one might escape such a place, he cackled rather cruelly and declared that any souls that found themselves in that place were beyond saving. Then he winked at me and continued exploding every apple in the house one by one like he’d been doing for the past hour. It was annoying by the third one and now he’s on number sixteen. Why do we have this many apples anyway?_

_If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that the best way to navigate out of there is to imagine another person to live for. That place is some sort of punishment I suppose for self-interest, so it would only make sense that thoughts of another would prevent the place from claiming you._

_I think this is a place I shouldn’t visit._

_He’s smiling at me again._

_\- Excerpt from the Journal of Unknown Author_

 


End file.
